Drabblebox
by N92.9141b
Summary: A testing ground for new ideas and snippets of future work. Drabble #5: White World Myths - So there really was such thing as snow. Rome never would have believed it.
1. Draw Me An Innocent Child - Romania

**_This is basically going to be a testing ground for my future work - a place to try out snippets of ideas, attempt writing new characters, etc. It's more of a place for my writing exercises than to attract readers. Even so, it's helpful if you review because then I know which ideas I should continue with in the future and what exactly I need to work on. _**

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. _**

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_**Drabble Prompt: Romania and Little Brother**_

_Summary: Romania wonders what his little brother's life is really like._

_**Title: Draw Me An Innocent Child**_

He finishes reading the last sentence and looks up, only to find that Moldova's already fallen asleep. Probably has been asleep since he started reading from halfway through the book.

Chuckling, he tucks away his bruised and battered copy of _The Little Prince_ and turns to leave, but not before lightly patting the top of the little boy's head like he knows human brothers do.

He stops halfway to the door, some invisible force turning him around.

He turns, and regards Moldova's sleeping form.

In a way, Moldova is an unlucky child. After all, which child could ever survive the horror of the Soviet Union without being stripped of their protective layers of innocence? Yet in other ways, Moldova remains a little boy, full of laughter and sweetness and the genuine warmth that, among the nations, only the youngest seem to have.

He's stricken momentarily by the similarity between his little brother and the Little Prince himself. So brave and wise underneath a happy, angelic exterior. So strong beneath their respective walls of soft, unadulterated kindness.

But then again, has Moldova ever experienced the crushing loneliness of having no one to take his hand in the midst of the fearful ignorance that is a nation's true birthplace? No - he's always had him there, watching, protecting, comforting. Even during the Soviet years, when they could only see each other at designated times, he had people watching over him, people to call brothers and sisters in the cruel camaraderie that was the Union. And has the Little Prince always been alone in his world?

There was always that rose, however flawed and frivolous she may have once been.

He finally turns away and strides over to the door. His finger rests lightly on the light switch for a moment, and he smiles to himself, watching his little brother's face shift and settle in dreaming silence.

_Draw me a sheep,_ echoes the voice of the Little Prince.

_Yes_, Romania thinks, _I'll draw you a sheep. As many as it takes to keep your dreams alive._


	2. Nature's Gratuities - The Netherlands

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. **_

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_**Drabble Prompt: Character (Netherlands) with Theme (Dreams)**_

_Summary: the Netherlands has always had dreams_ _\- of war, of peace, of life, of love. And of course, of the future._

**_Title: Nature's Gratuities_**

It takes a lot of courage to dream. To open one's self to a barrage of random access memories, visions, and thoughts you never thought you'd have, or ever could have imagined.

Never thought of it that way? That's fine by me - I never used to see it that way either. When I was younger, I saw dreaming as a useful little gratuity Nature had tagged onto the human consciousness, a little something to make sleep more enjoyable.

But of course, Nature doesn't give us gifts. We earn everything we have from her - we share in her seemingly endless wealth - and in exchange she takes away just as much. Our loves, our people, our sanity - this is the trade-off, or at least will be, some time in the future. Fair trade, I suppose, for existing in the state we do.

We live in the strangest ways that we can, to try and forget, to try and drain every drop worth having out of life until the end comes. Like how France always has to be the over-the-top lover-of-all, like how Spain and Belgium fixate on tomatoes and chocolate as if it's the last thing they'll ever see. Like all of our passions are amplified somehow, exaggerated beyond reality. As if that'll make it somehow worth all the sadness we see, as if the money I earn somehow pays off bearing our national burdens.

We surround ourselves in the frivolous, to forget for a little while our eventual purpose.

Only a few of us yet have paid Mother Nature in sanity. But at some point, when all we stand for - all we have left is gone, I wonder if we'll all end up writing her one mass check.

The truth is? It doesn't always start with the first human wars we fight.

The sheer weight of the bad memories will always be enough.


	3. A Snapshot of Life in the City - LitBel

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia. **_

_**Also, a quick note:**_

_**The following drabble will be LitBel (Lithuania x Belarus), which I know isn't an extremely popular pairing. If you don't like the pairing, you don't have to read this one, as this work is an anthology of random short writing practice. The same will apply to all other work published in this collection: if it involves a pairing, character, or event(s) you don't feel comfortable/happy reading about, please don't read it. **_

_**On the other hand, if you'd like to request any pairing, character, or prompt of me, that would be fine - I like random prompts anyhow. For that, you can PM or review to get the message through. **_

_**Written because I need a break from sad stuff. Seriously. **_

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_**Drabble Prompt: Paperman Modern AU (LitBel)**_

_Summary: She's made him wait long enough; it's only right that she waits for him for once. _

**_Title: A Snapshot of Life in the City_**

It's 5:00, and the heat is turned off. Her breath forms chilly mist on the frozen window pane.

He promised he'd be home by 5:30, at the latest. Natalya frowns at the clock, wills it to speed up to match her wishes. She fiddles with her sash absentmindedly, wipes away the fogged up glass again.

Technically this place isn't his home yet - she's too resistant to change, and he's willing to wait - but she thinks she's ready to trust him now. To make that leap of faith.

Now, if only he were here for her to tell him...

She checks her watch, then the microwave clock, then the giant digitized one on the LED screen situated just across the street. All three display different times, but they all say he's late.

She smooths her dress determinedly. Her nose is leaving little condensed outlines on the glass, and she wipes at it quickly. If she isn't careful she'll smudge her makeup. And she wants to look good for Toris, as a silent apology for making him wait so faithfully for so long.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket. For a moment she hesitates; if it's him calling to cancel, she might say something she'll regret. She's come this close to destroying their relationship before - she's so undeservedly lucky that he's patient enough to always stay faithful.

She picks up.

"Are you looking out the window right now?" His voice, soft and soothing, in such stark contrast to the cacophony of the city, has never ceased to amaze her. Nevertheless she rolls her eyes before answering, because why _wouldn't_ she be looking for him? He's five minutes late.

"I'm right outside."

She scans the street, eyes narrowed.  
And then she sees him.

Still in his work clothes, a little rumpled from sitting at his desk all day, holding in one hand a bouquet of her favorite flax flowers and a posterboard in the other, bearing a Sharpie-marker message:

"Join me for dinner?"  
She can see him blushing from four stories up.

And she doesn't hesitate before scribbling out a huge 'yes' in the misted glass.

It doesn't matter that it's backwards to him.  
He always understands her in the end.

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_**Character Notes: I know these two may seem out of character; this is why: **_

_**I feel like the two of them together would start to balance each other out: Natalya would become happier because she knows she loves and is loved by a good man, and thus would be a little less frightening (and a bit more cheerful), and Toris would start to be more assertive and more confident in himself (although he's always going to be a bashful sweetheart) because Natalya rubs off on him. Part of the reason I love this pairing.  
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_**I also feel that, since both of them are kind of amateurs at love (I imagine this as Toris's first real relationship, and Natalya as having had a horrible breakup before this relationship), they'd both first worry a lot about what their partner thinks and be overly worried that they'll leave each other (because they really do love each other a lot). And then they'd start to trust each other more, and relax a little bit around each other. I think that's the stage they're at right now.**_

_**(These author's notes are so long. I'm going to shut up now.)**_


	4. Parting Shots - France

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Shots by Imagine Dragons. **_

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**_Inspiration: Shots - Imagine Dragons_**

_Summary: France watches the end of a familiar conflict through unfamiliar eyes. _

**_Title: Parting Shots_**

At the edge of the field is where he stands. On the outside, looking in on a conflict that didn't have to affect him, in which he'd had no real reasons to involve himself.

Well, technically revenge counts as a real reason, doesn't it? Not a good one, but a reason nonetheless. Still France finds that justification quickly shriveling up into an excuse as he watches, thick sheets of icy rain crashing against an earth painted monochrome grey under the filtered light of the swollen sky.

There across the field stands a lone British soldier, the only speck of real color in this sad world, as if by merely existing in the state he does he has drained all the warmth out of the stark, unforgiving landscape. Facing him is an entire enemy regiment in mottled blues, whites, browns, the default uniform of an amateur army. And at the head is a figure he himself has come to know well: tall and strong, unwavering as he stares down the equally familiar silhouette of the redcoat even as he stands weaponless in the rain.

France can only imagine the look on Britain's face, as he sets his musket's sights on a man who still seems no different from the time when he was a smiling infant at the center of another, happier, grassy field. That time, too, France had been the outsider, privy to the vision of a softer side of his indomitable, insufferable archrival. When it comes to America, it seems he is forever doomed to be the third wheel.

Even now, as he takes his place among those of the victors, he doesn't quite belong between them. Even now, in this war, England sees only America's betrayal, and America, only Britain's anger.

He watches, unmoving, as England's bayonet quivers, then drops, its master dropping with it. He watches, and wonders.

Whether Britain, so small and frail on the ground, can ever stand again.

Whether England, so adept at holding grudges, will ever see eye to eye with America again.

Whether Arthur, a man too often broken and cruelly used, will ever dare to let his humanity show once more.

And somehow, he can't shake the feeling that he's committed some terrible crime, that it was his hand, not America's, that fired the final shot.


	5. White World Myths - Ancient Rome

**_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia._**

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**_Inspiration: Stay Alive - Jose Gonzalez_**

**_Prompt: Ancient Rome, Myth and Snowflake - pre-empire Rome_**

_Summary: So there really was such thing as snow. Rome never would have believed it. _

**_Title: White World Myths_**

The world had gone crazy. Rome - the name he'd recently been given by the nice man who built his new home - was sure of it. After all, what other explanation could there be for awakening to his city turned suddenly so pure white and cool?

He remembered falling asleep after the evening meal and dreaming of grandiose things - conquering worlds, building cities, an age of glory that was exclusively his - and waking at the crack of dawn feeling silly. He was just a poor farm boy; conquering a city may as well have been conquering Olympus for how likely it seemed.

Silly and _cold_, as it were, when he finally recognized the unfamiliar feeling.

Luckily, it seemed that the other inhabitants of the walled city were having the same reaction. He watched from where he stood in the town center as they emerged cautiously from their squat, simple houses, looking surprised and somewhat frightened. And why shouldn't they be? Either there were evil forces at work, or Jupiter was playing the largest mass prank on them in the history of time.

He felt something icy - _icy? Where had that word come from? Very well, he'd call this icy from now on_ \- land in his perpetually scruffy brown hair, and immediately scrambled to brush it off, shrieking a little. He stared in wonderment as he drew his hands away, at the little crystalline flakes now clinging to his stubby, childlike fingers.

_Snow_, said something from deep inside him. _This is something they call snow._ He could distinctly remember his nice friend - the one who'd built this place - mentioning it once. But he'd always assumed it was some sort of myth, because of how ridiculous it had sounded, even to his young ears.

He felt the chill in the air amplify, and from the heavens spewed more magical white fluff. It settled lightly in his soft brown curls, his slim arms, the folds of his boyish face; sent a soft, tingling sensation shooting through his entire being. Inwardly he laughed a little. To think that he was now dancing in the middle of something so impossible... It somehow appealed to him.

After all, if this much was possible - if the gods could really could create such miracles - perhaps his own dreams weren't so incredible unlikely; perhaps he had more of a chance of winning in this world than he'd thought.

Of one thing he was certain: if this was truly Jupiter's doing, it was most certainly a gift. A sign.

"Snow!" He cried, spinning around and laughing with careless abandon. "This is snow!"

But really, it was so much more.

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_**Who knows who the nice man I was referencing was? That's right, Romulus, the legendary son of Rhea Silvia and the Roman God of War, Mars, and twin brother of Remus, who survived to see Rome begin to prosper. (Incidentally, he also accidentally killed his brother. How fitting of Roman history.)**_


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